Prelude to a Storm
by RefractedLightIsClaimed
Summary: Dude, there's like, sand in your vag, Finnessa. - Puck and Finn in a sandbox, with a case of Natty Light, discuss Puck and Rachel's relationship.  A piece on friendship.


A/N: This is a semi-companion piece to my first story, _Feigning Normal_. It's not really necessary to read that one first, but it'll help with background and whatnot. Please forgive my terrible attempt at drunken speech (tough, not wasted, slurred, speech) as I'm sure it's just that, terrible. Anyway, please read and review and let me know what you think. Or at least read and think happy thoughts. Yeah, happy thoughts. Now all I need is some Pixie dust. Also, please excuse the crappy title. It's 8:30 in the morning and I haven't slept.

_Disclaimer_: I own nothing. Seriously. _Nothing_.

**Prelude to a Storm**

He's sitting in the sandbox of his neighborhood park, a thirty pack of friends by his side.

"Natty Light," he says, toasting the clouded sky in a drunken salute. "The only friends I need." He slams back number eight with a bitter smirk.

Neil Diamond breaks his sanctuaried silence, the soft light of his phone giving off an eerie glow in the darkness of the deserted park. He ignores the call and scowls at the see-saw sitting a few yards in front of him. He's not going to answer. Fuck her.

He looks at the screen for a second. Thirteen unread messages, eight missed calls, and six voicemails. _Fuck_ her.

"Bitch," he mutters. He takes another gulp of cheap booze before crushing the can in his fist and tossing it on top of his ever-growing pile. The metallic clank it makes gives him a small bout of satisfaction. It's lame, he knows, as far as accomplishments go, but hey, he's always been one for the little things.

"_Sweet Caroline, bah bah bah —"_

"Fuck!" he yells as he grabs the phone in his fist. He hesitates for a second before accepting the call.

"_Noah?"_ the breathless, tinny voice is frantic through the earpiece. He ignores the twist in gut at the shaky, raw way she says his name and allows his anger to take charge.

"Stop fuckin' callin' me, Berry," he snaps and hangs up before she has a chance to respond. He slams his thumb against the end button, holding it down until the phone beeps and the screen blackens. He relaxes a bit as his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. Shit, he should have turned it off _hours_ ago. He's not sure why he didn't.

_Maybe you want to know she feels as shitty as you,_ a voice interjects in the back of his mind. He ignores it, dropping the phone in the sand by his feet and reaching for another Natty.

"Fuck this day," he cheers to the see-saw and takes a hearty chug.

**"_I _never_ say the right fuckin' thing! Jesus, Rach, I'm not fuckin' Hudson!"_**

He hears thunder in the distance and finishes his beer before reaching for another one.

**"_Sometimes I wish you were!"_**

The liquid is cool as it slides down his throat.

**"_Oh, God. I-I didn't mean it like—"_**

**"_The fuck you didn't. Screw this shit, I'm out."_**

**"_Noah—" _**

**_The door slams before she can say anything else._**

His head isn't fuzzy enough. He swallows another generous amount.

The thunder is getting louder.

He finishes another beer.

The completely fucked up thing? He's not even drunk yet. Not even close.

He's not sure what time it is when Finn finds him, but according to the mountain of tin at his feet, it seems it's been a good while since he turned off his phone. His former best friend plops down beside him, and it's all a little too surreal for Puck. He drinks some more. It's been well over a year since they've been like this, sitting side by side.

It's awkward and strained and they both know what the other is doing here. Puck reaches into the cardboard box sitting on his other side and pulls out a can and holds it out in Finn's general direction in a silent truce.

_Life sucks balls,_ the gesture says.

Finn accepts the drink and the unspoken meaning behind the proffered beverage.

_Big, hairy ones,_ the pop of the can answers. Puck tips his beer slightly and Finn mimics him and they both take a drink. Neither speak for a while, staggered swigs and gulps the only noise in the overcast night. He wants to ask the obvious question of _Why are you here?_, but he's not in a hurry to confirm his growing hunch.

The Frankenteen pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his forearms on them, gripping the silver can between his oversized hands. Puck can see the way he studies him from his peripheral and knows that their mutual vow of silence is about to be broken. A clearing of a throat has Puck tensing.

"So, uh, Rachel called," he offers in answer to the unasked questioned hanging in the air. Anger bubbles up from Puck's stomach and he finishes off his beer before massacring the innocent can and chucking it at the heap in front of him. The loud clatter echoes in the deserted park.

"I bet she did," he says in as neutral a tone as he can keep.

"She's worried, man," Finn continues, his tone equally even.

Puck lets out a bitter chuckle.

"The fuck she is." He grabs another beer. _Pop_. That sound right there? Fucking soothing as hell.

"She _is_. She's like, freaking and crap. It's kinda scary, dude. There were _tears_ and everything," he stresses. Discomfort is evident on his face and he shifts awkwardly at whatever image is playing in his head. Puck's features harden into a stony expression. There is no emotion in his voice when he speaks.

"I bet there were. She's a good actress." He takes another long drag of his beverage, suddenly wishing he'd sprung for a bottle of cheap whiskey. Now that shit does the trick.

"They were real, Puck. She's a mess and doesn't really know what she's supposed to do. She's in sweats, man. _Sweats_. And she's pacing, like, a _lot_, and she's even pulled out some hair and is just, like, all kinds of flippin—"

"Jesus," Puck cuts in, raising his free hand to his temple, rubbing small circles. He feels a headache coming on. "Just fuckin' stop, Hudson. I don't give a shit what Crazy's doin'."

He closes his eyes, but can feel Finn's gaze on him. He ignores the feeling of the obvious critical stare and continues the small ministrations in hope that he can ward off the impending explosion of his brain. Another minute passes before he hears a small chuckle escape the boy's lips. He cracks an eye open and glares at the lager teen.

"The fuck, man?" he grumbles.

"I don't believe that for a second," he laughs, shaking his head at him.

"I don't give a fuck what you believe," Puck responds, turning his eyes to the see-saw. Finn's laugh dies off into an awkward silence and Puck closes his eyes again. He sets his beer on the ground and runs his now other free hand over his scalp, the feeling of his calluses easing some of the tension in his skull. He can hear Frankenteen shifting and sighing and his head starts to throb a little bit more and there's a heavy pause between them, interrupted only by the sounds of the brewing storm.

"You, uh, you know she loves you, right?"

The reluctant admission catches Puck completely off-guard and he chokes on air and pounds on his chest as coughs catch in his lungs. His eyes shoot open and he turns to the other boy, eyes falling into angry slits. He catches his breath and scoffs at the idiot.

"No," he spits out. "She doesn't."

Finn glares back.

"Yes. She _does_."

"No, she doesn't. She like, loves the idea that she can save me or some twisted shit like that. I'ma fuckin' pet project or somethin'." He can't keep the resignation he feels out of his voice.

"Puck…"

"No, dude. Shut _up_. If anythin', she loves you and puts up with me. I was bored and she was hot and, well, here we are. Like the Stones said, man, 'You can't always get what you want.' I'm the fuckin' cons'lation prize." He knows it's a lie, but at this moment, after this night, it's a lie he's willing to believe.

Finn lets out an angry breath, running a hand through his tuft of hair.

"Goddammit, Puck! Would you just stop that?"

"Stop what?" he fires back, suddenly every bit of frustration and feeling of inadequacy he's ever had raging through him. "Stop pretendin' that I'm the one she wants? Jesus fuck, she called you didn't she?"

"Only 'cause she was worried about you and couldn't find—"

"Fuck that! She _called_ you! Point and fuckin' case, and shit." He stands up abruptly, Finn instantly following suit. He turns on his former friend and is _seething_. _Years_ of being in Finn's shadow boil to the surface and he's done. He's done with Rachel and her sick obsession with the leading man. He's done with Finn's damn Golden Boy act. He's done with all this goddamn bullshit.

"Yeah? She called me? Know why, asshole? 'Cause we're goddamn _friends_," Finn contests, stepping into Puck's personal space, their glowering faces inches from each other. Puck's fists clench on instinct and he knows shits about to go down.

"The fuck you are. What? You guys fuckin' behind my back? You gettin' back at me for Q? Bet you're _real_ fuckin' satisfied with this whole goddamn—"

He didn't see it coming. He _knew_ it was coming, hell, he was fucking hoping for it, but that didn't mean he saw it. When the hell did that lanky jackass get so damn quick?

One minute he's fuming in Finn's face, the next, well, he's sprawled out on his back in the sand, staring at the sky, his jaw _burning_. He blinks a few times, trying to process what the hell just happened. Finn flattened him, check. His headache is strangely gone, check. It looks like it's gonna rain at any second. Check.

"You're a fucking idiot," Finn grits out from above him.

Puck just stares at the clouds, flickers of lightening glowing in the dark air. He's suddenly exhausted. No anger, no pride, no indignation. Just simply, completely _tired_.

"Yeah," he finally says. "Yeah, I am."

"Good. As long as you admit it." Finn lies down next to him and they watch the flashes of lightening and take in the deep rumbling of the thunder in a strange, companionable calm. And then, out of nowhere, Puck starts to laugh. He doesn't know where it came from, or why it sounds so goddamn desperate to his ears, but he can't _stop_. Soon enough, Finn is laughing with him, and it's this bizarre moment of absolute clarity between the two former friends. And they're going on like fucking _maniacs_ and it's like they're fourteen again, lying in this very same spot, before the lies and deceit and oceans of betrayal and broken trust tore their friendship apart.

The scene is fucking _surreal_ and they both let everything out in this weird, therapeutic moment. These two, messed up idiots, lying side by side in a child's sandbox, cackling with everything they've got, in the middle of a looming storm.

It's then that Puck realizes that they have a chance to regain everything he's fucked up. It's a goddamn silver lining to everything that's happened on this shitty day.

"Just talk to her, man," Finn says, after he catches his breath.

It takes Puck a moment to comprehend that Finn said anything, and few more seconds to understand _what_ he said. And it's like a punch of sobriety in his gut. He remembers why he's there in the first place, why he's trying to drink himself into oblivion. Rachel appears in his mind and he pulls himself into a sitting position, sweeping a hand over his face in agitation.

"The fuck for?"

Finn pulls himself up too and smiles sadly at him.

"You love her, idiot."

Puck starts to protest, but Finn cuts him off with a punch to the shoulder.

"You know it's true. _I_ know it's true. You're, like, happy with her and crap. We're friends, man." Puck snorts at that. "We _are_, jackass. No matter what stupid things you do, or shit we've gone through, we've been friends since, like, forever, and that, you know, _means_ something to me, man. You deserve to be happy. And Rachel? She makes you real happy. So, don't screw it up."

The sincerity in his words leave Puck breathless for an instant before he clears his throat and throws his own fist against the taller teen's shoulder. _Hard_.

"Dude, there's like, sand in your vag, Finnessa."

"Shut up, you ass," Finn says, rolling his eyes. He stands, brushing his hands against his clothes to rid himself of the clinging sand. "Look, I gotta go. I kinda rushed out in the middle of a like, a talk with Kurt. He's probably like, ready to send out a search team for me or something."

"Whatever, man. Watch your hole," Puck laughs.

"Dude, not cool!"

"Jus' some friendly advice. Beyonce's a sneaky li'l fuck."

Finn shakes his head as he steps out of the sandbox. Puck watches him walk away, curbing the need to say something to his retreating form.

"Hey, Hudson," he says despite his initial desire to shut the fuck up.

Finn stops and turns back to him, eyebrows raised in question.

"Uh, well. You know." He rubs at the back of his neck, averting his gaze to the very interesting sand in front of him, trying to find the words he needs to say without actually having to, you know, _say_ them. Finn stands patiently, watching him. Puck drops his hand from his neck to the near empty box and grabs one last beer. He tosses it to Finn who catches it with a quirked eyebrow.

"You know. For the road." _Thanks._

Finn smiles and nods at him. _You're welcome._

"See you around, Puckerman."

And then he's gone and Puck's alone again.

At this point, he has two options.

One: Finish off the last of the Natty Light, successfully fucking himself up, stumble home through the rain and pass out (or, maybe, just pass out in this damn sandbox and die of pneumonia, or something) and then do it all over again tomorrow until everything goes away and he doesn't feel what he's trying desperately _not_ to feel.

Option two?

It's in his hand as he turns his phone back on.

His mind is made up as soon as the screen flickers back on and he sees the stupid picture that Rach had set behind his back that he never made the effort to change.

It rings twice before she answers.

"_Noah?"_ She sounds worried, timid, scared, exhausted, and so many other things that only she is able to convey through a two syllable name. He lets out a shallow breath as he falls back against the sand and stares up at the dark sky.

"S'gonna rain."

"_Oh my god! Are you drunk?"_

"Poss'bly."

"_Where are you?"_

"Park."

"_Do not move! I'm on my way."_

"Ok."

He doesn't move the phone away from his ear, even after it beeps, signaling that the call has been disconnected.

"Ok," he says again.

He drops his hand to the ground before it lights up again, alerting him on a received text. He turns his head and opens the message, smirking as he reads it.

He hums to himself as he feels a drop of water smack against his forehead.

_Hudson: like the Stones said man, if u try sometimes u'll find u get what u need_

_fin_


End file.
